Reading the note made Prince Asher's stomach sink. Whatever his father had to say, he doubted it was good. Despite his unease, the prince carried on, dressing himself in his fine clothes for worship. He donned his cotton breeches, a tunic with a ruffled collar, and a light doublet over top. He finished by stepping into a pair of soft leather boots. Now that he was dressed, the prince exited his bedchamber, and made his way down the hall.

  Walking through the luxurious palace, the bandit's words still rang in Prince Asher’s ears. No one had ever spoken to him like that before.

  Are the villagers really starving while we have… all this? He began to ponder, staring at the impossibly high ceilings and the multitude of exquisite paintings lining the walls, but he quickly pushed the thoughts out of his mind. He had to follow his father's orders, whether he agreed with them or not.

  He stepped out of the palace, and walked through the green expanse of the gardens before arriving at the grand Artoria Royal Temple. It was very similar to the main keep in construction, but with the exterior of the building being comprised almost completely of beautifully ornate stained glass. The multicolor panes were over one hundred feet tall, and bathed the inside of the chapel in gorgeous beams of red, blue and yellow.

  Prince Asher entered the chapel, and made his way to his seat of honor at the very front of the chamber. The only people permitted inside the Artoria Royal Temple were the royal family and high-ranking nobles. The noble families all respectfully cast their gaze downward as Prince Asher walked past, avoiding eye contact. It was slightly uncomfortable for him, and sometimes he wished they just would look up and greet him with a smile.

  As he walked down the aisle, the prince noticed something strange. Lady Rheya's usual seat was empty, as were her parent's. He wondered if Lord Baldwin was sent on an assignment in another city, which may explain Rheya's unusual behavior the night before.

  She probably wanted to see me before departing on her trip, he thought absentmindedly.

  He took his seat, and exhaled slowly, clearing his mind. His father never attended morning worship, choosing instead to pray in solitude. Prince Asher had no other living family, so he sat alone.

  He examined the architecture before him to occupy his mind until the service started, as he often did. His eyes were drawn behind the stage where the temple priest, Father Mikael usually stood. There stood a massive, solid gold sculpture of the Three Archangels, standing over eighty feet tall. The Angels resembled beautiful humans, but from their backs they sprouted pairs of massive feathered wings. The faces of the Angels were depicted with fearsome expressions, as though they were ready for war. As a child, the statues used to terrify Prince Asher, appearing to him as towering gold-skinned monsters. Standing front and center was Lightbringer, the King of the Angels. He wielded a mighty flaming sword, and his gilded features were strong and powerful.

  Above the statues, the lofty ceilings were home to exquisite frescoes, depicting various scenes from the Azirian Holy Book. When he grew bored during the service, Prince Asher would often study these murals. He especially liked the ones that illustrated the great wars fought during the age of the prophet, which was over five-thousand years before he was born.

  Father Mikael finally ascended to the stage, silencing the room immediately. The angelic effigy loomed over him, dwarfing his body. The priest's stern grey eyes flitted between the members of the congregation, studying them intently. Father Mikael was quite young for a clergyman, but what he lacked in age, he made up for in religious fervor. He preached the scripture with tremendous passion, his face often growing red with intensity as he spoke. He gripped the edges of the marble podium tightly as he began to preach to the congregation.

  ”Today’s scripture tells the tale of our holy prophet Azir, and the founding of our great kingdom. You see, Aziria wasn’t always the united land you know today. Before the prophet’s birth, this land was home to hundreds of feudal tribes, constantly warring and pillaging one another. Father killed son, and brother killed brother, all vying for the same food, land, and women. It was a savage land, and its inhabitants were little more than beasts. They had no deities or angels to guide them, surviving off instinct alone.

  This would all change after the coming of our great prophet. Azir’s birth was seemingly unremarkable, but nothing could be further from the truth. He was the son of a village chieftain, born from one of his many concubines. As he grew up, Azir proved to be an exceptionally strong and capable boy. At the age of eight, he was already proficient with a spear and an accomplished hunter. By the age of twelve, he was a known killer who could defeat powerful warriors twice his age.

  Azir had three elder half-brothers, all of whom coveted their father’s position and influence over the village. As Azir continued to gain strength, they grew fearful of him, viewing him as a threat to their positions. They conspired to eliminate their younger brother, and secure their future power. The brothers believed that with their superior numbers, they could easily defeat Azir.

  As time went by, their father grew weak and ill. It was clear that his time was short, and that a new chieftain would soon be chosen. Azir’s brothers grew panicked, knowing they must strike soon if they wanted to stop him from taking command. By this time, Azir had become virtually unmatched in combat and had a throng of dedicated warriors who followed his every command. The people of the village revered him over his weaker brothers, all but ensuring his future as chieftain.

  Azir’s father died on the seventeenth anniversary of his birth. It was on this fateful day that his brothers made their move. They charged their sibling on an open field, spears in hand. Azir watched them approach, unarmed and unflinching. When his oldest brother reached him, Azir wrenched the spear from his hands, and quickly drove it through his heart. The other two brothers recoiled in fear, but Azir quickly dispatched them too, as easily as a man butchers a fowl. He stood victorious, bathed in the blood of his kin. At this moment, the very sky itself opened up, and rays of heavenly light were cast upon his earthly form.

  This was the first time Lightbringer spoke to Azir. His words were unmistakably divine, manifesting directly in Azir's mind.

  “Do not fear, for I am Lightbringer, King of the Angels. I have chosen you as my servant, over all other humans. You are destined to be King of Men, Azir. I have granted you my divine power to meet this end. No mortal can ever match you on the field of battle. Many will try, and many will fall.

  Know this- It is your sacred duty to ascend to ruler of this land. Go forth, and conquer your fellow man, uniting their tribes under your yoke. Bed their women, as you must sire many sons to carry on your legacy. Only then will this land know peace.Your war shall be holy, and the souls of your fallen warriors shall live forever in paradise, being granted all of their earthly desires. The souls of the weak and cowardly will be cast into the seven circles of Hell, forced to suffer eternally in the grasp of the demons and their king, the Lord of Lies- Silvertongue. You must spread our divine word among your followers, and never betray us. This is your sacred duty, my son.”

  Azir's body and mind flooded with holy enlightenment, and he knew in his soul that this was his sacred duty. He graciously accepted Lightbringer's commands, falling to his knees in wonder and reverence. Azir wasted no time in waging war against the neighboring tribes. He and his warriors were victorious each time, slaughtering the men and enslaving the women and children. As Azir’s territory expanded, he fathered many sons by these enslaved women, continuing his legacy.

  He preached the word of Lightbringer and the Angels, instilling fear and wonder in the hearts of his men. Conquered tribes were converted to believers, and they left their false idols behind. Those who would not comply were swiftly killed, along with their heirs.

  The great prophet continued to stoke the flames of war as his sons grew up, each almost as powerful as their father. Soon, Azir’s holy duty was virtually fulfilled. His armies, lead by his many sons, surrounded the most powerful chieftain in the land, crushing him and his men with ease. The only surviving men where taken as war slaves, as well as their wives and children. A new kingdom reigned supreme in the land, with barely any remnants of the scattered tribes left. Azir had succeeded in uniting the continent under his heel.

  After this great victory, the prophet declared his dominion to be known as Aziria, crowning himself the High King of the land. He ordered the construction of the city of Artoria and the royal palace, with tens of thousands of war slaves toiling day and night to make Azir's dream reality. Aziria soon flourished, and the people submitted to their new ruler. High-King Azir maintained an iron grip over his territories, granting his sons the title of Lord and giving them command of each conquered stronghold.

  Despite his strong influence, King Azir was sometimes summoned to quell rebellions that sprang up sporadically across his kingdom. On one such campaign, his army crushed a remote territory that attempted to rise up against his rule. They beheaded the defeated chieftain, and began to pillage the settlement as was customary in Aziria.

  While his men set fire to the village, King Azir tried to mount a woman he found amongst the wreckage. However, when she turned to face him, Azir was left speechless with wonder as he gazed upon her face. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. She seemed almost otherworldly in her elegance and grace. Never before had a woman been able to sway the great prophet's heart in such a way. His blade fell to the ground, and King Azir took the woman's hand, insisting that she become his queen. The woman did not protest. She agreed to become his queen if he would spare the lives of the rest of her people. The great prophet agreed, and asked the woman's name. "Celeste," she told him.

  King Azir brought Celeste back to Artoria, and they were married in the royal palace. The Kingdom of Aziria celebrated for many nights, and a new era of peace and prosperity was ushered in. Soon, Queen Celeste was with child. She gave birth to a strong baby boy, and named him Azrael. King Azir and his people were overcome with joy, and the whole kingdom fell to their knees to honor their new prince. As Prince Azrael grew, he showed himself to be a gifted and capable child, just like his father before him. However, Prince Azrael was raised in a time of peace, not knowing the ways of war and bloodshed. When he reached the age of seventeen, the prince decided to set off on a journey across the land, hoping to learn more about the kingdom and her people. He left the capital, bringing nothing more than his horse and the clothes on his back.

  As he traveled across the kingdom, Prince Azrael was shocked at what he saw. War slaves toiling day and night, building castles and growing food in the fields. The ashen remains of any province that dared to take up arms against the king. The naive prince didn't understand the true ways of the world, for he never experienced the savage days of old, when his father had to seize power and crush his enemies. Prince Azrael's journey took him across the great river Whiterush, spanned by the fortified bridge Riordus, to the northern end of the continent. The remote wilderness beyond the bridge was known as the Forgotten Lands, where few Azirians had ever explored or settled.

  A towering mountain loomed in the distance, capped with white snow. Something on the mountain called to him, beckoning him to climb to the peak. For days Prince Azrael braved the wind and snow, drawn to the summit. When he arrived, he found an ancient tower at the very top of the mountain. This structure seemed to be a remnant of a bygone age, existing before the current race of men ever set foot on the continent. He ascended the mysterious tower, and looked out across the whole kingdom from the lofty peak. As he gazed upon his dominion, Prince Azrael claimed Lightbringer's divine voice spoke to him, just like his father before him. This time however, he was delivered a much different message.

  ”Child, you must forge a new path, different from that of your father. He has united this land through blood, conquest, and bondage, but your destiny lies somewhere different. King Azir is strong, but his mind has been tainted by false deities. Cunning deception has lead him astray, down a dark path. That is why you must stand against him, despite his great strength. As king, you will usher in a new era in this land. Your rule will be one of honor and justice for all who call you king. Instead of killing and enslaving your people, grant them freedom and teach them prosperity. Give them mercy in their time of need. Bring the people together in peace, not just for the nobility but for all. Teach them to be selfless, and to love their fellow countrymen just as they love themselves…”

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Prince Azrael was surprised by this supposedly divine message, but Lightbringer's words had moved him in a way he had never thought possible. When he returned to Artoria, the prince began preaching his new doctrine to anyone who would listen. The members of the lower classes and slaves latched onto his words, with relentless zeal, dedicating their lives to his cause. When news of this reached King Azir, he was furious, and rightfully so. He had received instructions straight from the divine, and carried them out without question. Now his own son sought to undermine his rule, spouting this weak and cowardly rhetoric. He could not tolerate it. King Azir realized that Prince Azrael had been deceived by the Lord of Lies, known to the masses as Silvertongue. Lightbringer had warned King Azir that the Ruler of Demons had been known to take delight in sowing seeds of distrust and betrayal between mortals.

  Without absolute strength and power, King Azir knew his kingdom would crumble beneath him. His royal capital and strongholds couldn't have been built without slaves. The only thing keeping the feudal tribes in check was their fear of the king's wrath. Without war and glory, his subjects would be destined for an afterlife of torment in the pits of Hell. He could not allow that.

  King Azir had no choice but to declare war on his son, and all who followed his teachings. With his father's forces closing in around him, Prince Azrael chose to flee Artoria, bringing about a third of King Azir’s subjects with him as loyal followers. To the king's dismay, Queen Celeste selfishly chose her son over her king, and escaped in the night to join the traitorous prince. The host of rebels fled north, towards the Forgotten Lands. It was here that his people seized the great bridge Riordus, using it to cross into the northern lands.

  His followers celebrated, and Prince Azrael declared the lands to be the Kingdom of Celestia, in honor of his mother. The newly dubbed Celestians heavily fortified the great bridge so none could follow, and their new leader called upon his demonic master to create an unholy seal around it. This blasphemous barrier repelled every siege attempted by Azirian forces, seemingly by magical power. Despite years of concentrated efforts, it was never penetrated, and Riordus still stands.

  King Azir devised a brave new strategy, and commanded his men to build him the greatest naval fleet the world had ever seen. His builders worked day and night to bring the king's vision to life, and soon the Azirian Navy was formed. The ships were filled to the brim with fearsome warriors, and they sailed on Celestia. The battles on the Celestian coastline raged for many years, but eventually the Azirians were repelled. The majority of our ships were sunk, and many lives were lost. Without the strength of the demons, Celestia would have surely crumbled, but it prevailed through unholy power.

  Aziria has rebuilt our fleet and launched many naval campaigns since then, but our forces have yet to conquer the Celestian shores. However, King Aemon has promised this will change. Our new navy is stronger than ever, standing by in the port of Artoria. Soon we will launch a great assault by land and sea, overwhelming the heretics. There is but one obstacle that stands in our way.

  The Great Bridge Rirodus remains under siege to this day, the epicenter of our Holy War. Despite valiant efforts, our forces have not been able to conquer the stalwart fortress that defends the great bridge, or the otherworldly miasma that protects it. However, we must not falter. If we continue to gain strength, the Celestians will soon be destroyed. They reject our Angels, and cower in the northern lands, preforming unholy rituals to curse us. Plague, famine, and drought have been cast upon us by these heretics throughout the ages, weakening our once untouchable kingdom.

  But do not fear, the tide of war is turning in our favor, at last. After these five-thousand years of hardship, we shall finally take our victory. Our High-King Aemon has been hand-chosen by Lightbringer to lead us to victory, finally crushing the Celestian heretics once and for all. There is no glory in weakness! Only in strength!

  No longer will they hide behind the veil of false virtue, all while cursing us with these dreadful catastrophe! We will march across the great bridge Riordus, and take back what is our rightfully ours! For the glory of Aziria! For the glory of the Angels!”

  Father Mikael stood gasping for breath after his barrage of words. The veins in his forehead bulged out of his skin like serpents moving across the sand. His audience closed their eyes in silent prayer, affirming his message in their heads.

  Prince Asher had heard this tale countless times before, but he’d always wondered why King Azir rejected his son's message so vehemently.

  This is truly what the Angels want? For us to kill one another based on our beliefs? For the strong to dominate the weak?

  It seemed unusually cruel to Prince Asher, but he knew the world was indeed a cruel place. He had seen how the serpent feasted upon the mouse, exploiting weakness to fill its own belly. In turn the eagle feasted on the serpent, continuing the cycle. This was the way of life, something that could never change. The young prince had grown to accept the brutal nature of his homeland, and never voiced his concerns out of fear.

  Prince Asher was so deep in thought he didn't realize the service had concluded, and the noble attendees were already shuffling out of the temple. The prince stood up and headed towards to the exit, feeling slightly dazed.

  I need to focus on the mission at hand and not allow myself to become distracted, he thought, shaking his head. Prince Asher had trained his mind to quickly eliminate any seeds of doubt, finding life much easier that way. He never questioned the priests, and certainly not his father. That curiosity had been driven out of him long ago.

  After crossing the courtyard, he turned a corner and arrived at the door to the king's study. Prince Asher took a deep before knocking quietly. "Father?" He called, his voice weak.

  "Come in," came the response.

  He entered, and found King Aemon's large figure standing over his desk, eyes poring over a multitude of complex maps and charts. The study was a luxurious room, with a large fireplace made of jet-black volcanic stone, and a collection of royal banners draped from the walls. They were dyed a deep crimson and lined in fine gold thread. The banners proudly displayed a coiled viper, the sigil of the Azirian royal family.

  The furs of many exotic animals covered the floor, and the head of a great stag hung on the mantle. The walls were lined with row upon row of bookshelves, containing tomes about everything from swordsmanship to painting. As a child the prince would often sneak in and read these books, but only when he was certain his father wouldn't appear. It was true that he didn’t care much for his tutoring, but literature had always greatly appealed to him. He preferred to read in solitude, and only about topics that caught his interest.

  The king noticed his son gazing at his desk, trying to discern what he was working on.

  "Plans for an upcoming campaign," he said, motioning Prince Asher closer. "I think I've finally found a way to break through the heretics’ defenses after all these years. Their fortified bridge protects them well against large-scale invasion, but there are small cracks in their armor that we can exploit. A small number of Azirian spies have been able to infiltrate Celestia through ancient passageways, and gain vital information about our enemies’ movements. The Celestians have left their most important piece relatively undefended, and they are oblivious to our insights. This will be their downfall. We will begin to unravel them from within, and they’ll never suspect a thing,”

  The prince nodded, remaining silent. He knew better than to speak his mind around the king.

  "Now my son, is there anything you wish to tell me?" King Aemon said, looking up from his work and into his son’s eyes. Something about his gaze seemed unusual to the prince.

  Prince Asher’s stomach churned. "Does he know about last night? Or is he referring to my failure in the field?" he wondered. He thought carefully for a moment before speaking.

  "Yes father," he said. "I will oblige your command, and I swear to return with our reclaimed tithes, and the heads of every single bandit who dared to challenge the Azirian royal family, including the Raven." He hoped his answer would suffice. To his relief, the king smiled, which was a rare occurrence.

  "That's good to hear, my son. We cannot afford to show any weakness to our enemies. Aziria is a kingdom built on strength and fear. Without it, our power crumbles and we are left vulnerable," the king said, his smile fading as quickly as it had appeared. "Now, to ensure you fulfill your promise, I've made the stakes a little higher for you," King Aemon continued.

  "Wha-" Prince Asher began, but his father interrupted. "Silence,” he said abruptly, and the prince held his tongue.

  "I've sent your nighttime visitor on a trip to the palace dungeon. If you want to see her returned safely, you will not fail me again," The king said softly.

  Prince Asher's stomach sank through the floor, and his heart began pounding. "You wouldn't... her father is-"

  King Aemon suddenly lunged forward and grabbed prince Asher by the collar, violently pulling him just inches from his face.

  "Her father is my pawn. He does whatever the fuck I tell him,” he hissed. "The same goes for you, and you'd be wise to remember that," the king added, with a strange grin. He released his grasp, and Prince Asher stumbled backwards.

  His head was spinning as his father's words sank in. The prince was used to his father's abuse, but he never expected him to abduct Lady Rheya. The worst outcome he expected for her was being banished from court, or perhaps her father being demoted from his position. This drastic action was completely out of character for the king. Not only was it cruel, but imprisoning Lady Rheya was a foolish political move, alienating the king's most trusted ally. It was true that King Aemon was often hostile and combative, but he could also be quite shrewd and calculating.

  How on earth did he find out? Prince Asher wondered in a panicked daze.

  "We were just-" Asher began, but one look from his father silenced him.

  "I cannot permit my son to be cavorting about in the middle of the night with some common whore. I've already told you I'm in talks with several of the great Lords of Aziria, hoping to broker a marriage that will benefit us politically. But it seems you don't care about anyone but yourself," the king spat.

  "A common whore?! Lady Rheya is-" before the prince could finish, King Aemon brought his fist down upon the desk with a loud crash, startling Prince Asher. It seemed that he was determined not to let the prince speak. Prince Asher realized this and bit his tongue, seething with anger. His fist tightened as he studied his father closely, and he noticed something peculiar.

  King Aemon didn't look quite like his usual self. The skin on his faced seemed unusually gaunt, like it was stretched too thin over his features. His eye sockets had deep black bags under them, as if he hadn't rested in days. But worst of all were the eyes themselves. King Aemon had never been a warm or caring man, but as Prince Asher looked into his father's eyes, he saw someone he didn't recognize. The blue of his irises seemed to have changed to an icy gray, devoid of emotion or feeling. His pupils were tiny slits, blacker than coal. It was like looking into the eyes of a predatory beast, starving for flesh.

  ”When I return with the coppers and the bandit's heads, I expect to see Lady Rheya unharmed,” the prince said coldly.

  ”I hope so, for her sake,” the king replied, with a disturbing look on his face. “You are to return victorious by sundown, or you won't like what happens...” he added ominously.

  Prince Asher met his gaze. A flash of the king’s former self seemed to come over him, but it quickly disappeared once again.

  "I won't fail," Asher said, turning to leave.

  He hastily exited the study, relieved to be away from the king’s gaze.

  The prince was still reeling from the bizarre confrontation, but he dare not waste a single second. He would complete his mission and rescue Lady Rheya. There was no other option.

  He hustled back to his quarters and traded his fine clothes for his traveling leathers and plate armor. He wore the standard armor of a Holy Knight, a robust gold-colored cuirass with large shoulder plates to protect his neck from enemy arrows. Underneath, he wore a chain mail shirt that served as a second line of defense and protected any gaps in his armor. He slipped on his leather boots and fitted his steel greaves over top of them. Now that he was prepared, Prince Asher grabbed his sword and hurried down to the castle yard where Sir Tristan was waiting for him. He approached the knight, a puzzled expression forming on his face.

  "Where are the rest of the men?" Prince Asher asked.

  Sir Tristan looked slightly uncomfortable. "The King has stripped you of your command until you return triumphant. I will be the only one accompanying you this time, my prince."

  Prince Asher sighed. Normally he would be overjoyed to travel without an escort, but he couldn't afford to fail this mission. There was too much to lose. Despite this, the prince knew all too well that any argument would be futile. The King's orders were absolute, especially to Sir Tristan. However, as he considered the situation, a curious idea began forming in the prince's head.

  Maybe I can use this to my advantage...

  "Sir Tristan. I'd like you to remove your armor. Then go find us two plain-looking cloaks, the type peasants would wear," Prince Asher said, unstrapping the leather fasteners on his own cuirass.

  "My prince?" Sir Tristan questioned, with a quizzical expression on his face.

  "Think about it. Without our company, we have no chance of defeating the Raven and his men. But even if we had a large force, he would just hide when he saw us coming. Heaven knows what hole he could crawl into. What we need to do is blend in, and make use of the element of surprise, just like the he did yesterday."

  Sir Tristan paused, thinking over the prince's plan. "Very well," he said. He hastily departed, and returned a few minutes later. "Will these do?" Sir Tristan said, holding up two dusty brown cloaks.

  "Those will do just fine," Prince Asher said. "Now, let us depart, we haven't a moment to spare."

  The pair mounted their horses and began heading out of the city, once again traveling across the long bridge connecting Artoria to the mainland. The city had a different aura about it as Prince Asher gazed behind him. Artoria felt like a steel cage more than ever before, closing in to crush him. He and Sir Tristan advanced past the outer gate, and proceeded into the forest.

  “Yesterday we were attacked right as we left Runestone Village. If the Raven can be found anywhere, it’s there!” Asher shouted to Sir Tristan as he spurred Steel faster, galloping across the wooded roads towards the village.